Chapter 1

The plane landed smoothly, but my heart was turbulent. I hadn't told David I was coming. For the past two years, our marriage had existed mostly through phone calls and text messages, a convenient arrangement between two families who thought we were a perfect match. He was a rising star in tech, and I was an architect. On paper, it worked.

But lately, the distance felt bigger than just the miles between us. His calls were shorter, his texts more generic. This trip was my attempt to close that gap, a surprise visit to the city where he was supposedly working day and night on a make-or-break project.

I spotted him as soon as I walked into the arrivals hall. David Hayes was always easy to find in a crowd, impeccably dressed, with a charismatic smile that drew people in. He was holding a sign with my name on it, a playful gesture that made my stomach flutter with a nervous hope.

"You're finally here," he said, pulling me into a hug that felt a little too stiff, a little too rehearsed. He took my suitcase from my hand. "The flight was okay?"

"It was fine," I said, trying to push down the feeling of unease. "I tried calling you when I landed, but it went to voicemail."

Before David could answer, a young woman stepped forward from beside him. She was beautiful, with bright, confident eyes and a smile that didn't quite reach them. She was wearing a sharp, stylish dress that made my simple jeans and sweater feel inadequate.

"Oh, that was my fault," she said, her voice smooth and practiced. "Chloe, right? I'm Sarah Jenkins, David's assistant. We were in a crucial meeting with the investors, and I had everyone put their phones on silent. David was so worried about missing your call."

She extended a hand, and I shook it. Her grip was firm, her nails perfectly manicured.

"It's nice to meet you," I managed to say.

Sarah's eyes scanned me from head to toe, a quick, almost imperceptible assessment. It made me feel like a specimen under a microscope. I instinctively pulled my sweater tighter around myself. This was Sarah. The assistant David had mentioned in passing, the one who was "incredibly efficient" and a "huge help." He had never mentioned she looked like a model.

"David talks about you all the time," Sarah continued, her arm linking casually with his. "He was just saying how he couldn't wait for you to get here."

I looked at David. He gave a slight, noncommittal smile, not confirming or denying her words. He seemed more interested in guiding us toward the exit.

Our marriage was an arrangement, a partnership. We were both from well-off families who had known each other for years. It was a logical step after he returned from his studies abroad and I finished my degree. There was no grand romance, just a quiet understanding. We respected each other's careers and gave each other space. We had been living in different cities for his work for the past two years, a situation that was supposed to be temporary but had stretched on indefinitely.

"I'm so glad you could make it, Chloe," Sarah said again, her voice pulling me from my thoughts. She was walking on David's other side, creating a strange, crowded trio. "It's tough for David, being here all alone. We all try to keep him company."

The "we" felt pointed. It felt like a warning.

As we reached the car, David opened the back door for my suitcase while Sarah slid into the front passenger seat without a moment's hesitation. It was a small thing, but it felt significant. That was my seat.

I got into the back, the new car smell of the rental mixing with the faint, expensive scent of Sarah's perfume.

"I hope you don't mind, I booked you a room at our hotel," David said, looking at me through the rearview mirror. "It was just easier for logistics. Top floor, great view."

"Our hotel?" I asked.

"Sarah's on the same floor," he explained quickly. "The company put the whole project team there. It' s more efficient for late-night work sessions."

His explanation was smooth, but it didn't sit right. It felt too convenient. Sarah turned in her seat, a bright smile on her face.

"It's great! We can have breakfast together. All three of us," she said. Then she added, with a little laugh, "You have to be careful, Chloe. Men can get tired of the same old thing. It' s good you came to check up on him."

The air in the car went still. The comment was coated in sweetness, but the meaning was sharp and ugly. She was testing me, provoking me. I looked at David, waiting for him to say something, to defend me, to put his overly familiar assistant in her place.

He just gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He laughed weakly. "Sarah, don't tease my wife. She's tired from her flight."

His response was a dismissal, not a defense. He wasn't defending me; he was managing the situation. In that moment, watching him through the rearview mirror, I started to see the cracks in the foundation of our convenient marriage. It wasn't just cracking, it was crumbling.

I thought back over the last few months. The missed calls he blamed on "bad reception." The vague answers about his work. The way his voice lit up when he mentioned his "team's" successes, a team that I now understood was personified by the woman sitting in the front seat.

We arrived at the hotel. It was a sleek, modern tower of glass and steel. As David checked us in, Sarah stood close by, pointing at something on her phone and laughing with him, a bubble of intimacy that I was not a part of.

In the elevator, riding up to the top floor, the silence was heavy. David put his arm around my shoulder. "I know work has been crazy. I'm sorry I've been so distant. It's just... the pressure is immense."

His touch felt foreign. His apology felt hollow. It was the same excuse he had been using for months.

"I'm tired, David," I said, shrugging his arm off as the elevator doors opened. It was the only truth I could offer. I wasn't just tired from the flight, I was tired of the distance, tired of the excuses, tired of feeling like a secondary character in my own husband's life.

His room was a large suite, with a king-sized bed and a panoramic view of the city lights. My suitcase sat by the door, a symbol of my temporary, guest-like status. I just wanted to sleep, to escape the confusing, painful reality that was unfolding around me. I didn't want to be here anymore.

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